Falling Awake
by FluffleNeCharka
Summary: There is fallout to being not entirely human that no one ever saw coming. Danny's become something more ghost than human, mentally and emotionally. After much introspection, will he decide to complete the process?
1. 2 AM In The Wrong Direction

**Author's Notes: **Being half ghost should've had more mental reprecussions. Please ignore the faulty science mentioned; chalk it up to ghost biology being really, really weird. I have no idea where this idea came from. I may turn it into more than a oneshot in the future, I think. I'm not sure. But I had to get this out of my head so I could sleep.

* * *

Another insomniac night spent fighting my own racing thoughts because somehow I can't just lay my head down and sleep like a normal person.

Another night spent staring at the walls, trying to convince myself that I'm okay. If I lay down it will only make me more restless, so I'll wear myself out. I'll surf the internet, watch videos online, read, even, God forbid, do my homework. There's a lot I need to be doing, but I'm leaving it alone right now. I fail regardless of how hard I try. Trying is needless, another exertion I just can't muster up the effort for. Hell, I'm sitting here listening to the humming of my computer instead of even browsing the internet. That ought to say a lot about my mental state right now.

It always comes back to this. Always. It's like that incredibly depressing story Mr. Lancer made us read, that Scottish story. The one with the little girl who's half Folk and half human; Saaski Moql'nkkn. Who would have thought I'd ever pay attention in class? I almost understand what he sees in books. I'm as weirded out by anyone by it. Not that anyone knows I like the story. How could I ever explain to Sam that I relate to someone who's never existed? And Tucker would never take me seriously. Few people do. But I close my eyes and picture her, snub nose, pointed chin, platinum blonde hair whipping around a dark chocolate face, eyes shut as tears leak out.

_Neither one thing nor quite t' other, _the Prince said. And then he threw her out like trash. I wonder if Dani would like this story. She would, I think. I think she'd understand, and she'd be as addicted as I was. Saaski gets a happy ending eventually, after she works her ass off for it. If by happy you mean being totally alone and leaving behind everyone she ever knew, but I was just glad she got out alive by the time I was done with that thing. One of us should have some kind of happiness. At least she was free in the end. At least her family was happy. At least they didn't kill her. They didn't have to try it, the world alone almost did for them in the end. She was alive, alone. Trapped in their world, which was supposed to be half her world, she was dying. I think I know how she felt.

My human body isn't the real me anymore. It's not who I think of when I think of myself. I think of flying when I close my eyes. I think of running around invisible, of floating through the world, of dying. I find myself running faster, hitting harder, being stronger, in my 'human' form. Something's been shifting for a long time inside me, for a long time. The real world feels fake, shallow, like it's something I have to do rather than want to. Eventually, I'll go to sleep and the racing thoughts will stop. And briefly it'll be better. Then the alarm clock goes off. Like that cheesy line from Avatar, _sooner or later, you have to wake up_. But I don't. Not really.

There's a lot more constructive things I could be doing right now. Homework, studying, reading, watching the NASA channel, something. I stare ahead blankly instead. I wonder what it would be like to be a ghost. I wonder if anyone would notice if I vanished. If it wouldn't just make their lives simpler, easier. No more ghost attacks with Phantom on patrol 24/7. No more Sam or Valerie or other innocent bystanders getting hurt. No more putting peple around me in danger. Those are nice, altruistic pieces of bullshit I can tell myself to make myself feel better about my own crumbling sanity. The truth is I just want to go ghost and never, ever stop. I want to haunt a place, want to wander the Earth, want to fly instead of walk. And that wouldn't bother me, if it were just desires, because as hard I pretend otherwise I've felt those since the accident. They haven't been as bad before but they were there. So if that were the whole problem I wouldn't be losing sleep. You get used to it eventually, like a smoker who quits and has cigarette relapses periodically. You survive until the next one.

My eyes are teal now, not blue. My hair's coming in gray. Yesterday Sam told me I was going transparent. I was, from the knees down. I didn't even notice. I keep forgetting to eat. I'm beginning to think maybe something bigger is going on than some ghostly growing pains. I should be talking to Clockwork or Vlad or even Jaz about this.

_Neither one thing or quite t' other, the Prince said._

_But can't I try to live among the Folk? Moql asked._

I glance down. My legs vanish past the knee and my arms are see through. I can feel them. They're there. They just aren't showing. I can feel the glow in my eyes. My sixth sense has been acute lately, that beautiful inexplicable thing I can't get enough of. It's an oxygen I've been deprived of for too long. The sense of where every living being is around me, the light of their life, that thing that's not quite aura that surrounds them, and the faintest echo of thoughts and emotions. I don't know how to live without it anymore. That unexplained knowing of what will happen, what someone's going to say, is keeping me alive. Because without I feel nothing. I don't even feel dead. I'm just gone.

There's so little that seems to matter. Let Sam date that silver eyed boy with that stupid name you have to be a linguist to get right, let Tucker spend his every waking moment with that shy new Vietnamese girl. Everything fades. Everything drifts away from me and I'm tired of fighting for everything. Let my grades fall, let my parents obsess over Jazz while I slink off in the background; do I care? I just want to get away from everything, transform, leave the weight of everything behind. I want to be free. I want to run away.

Sometimes I can't stop my own thoughts, about running away forever, about breaking free. It should scare me. It doesn't. That _does_ worry me. I'm not sure what is happening. I'm not sure I care. If it's a problem they'll want to cure it, and I don't want a cure. I want to fly away, never be visible, explore what this sixth sense can really do, maybe even know what it means to haunt something. To have a connection to something, anything, even if it's sick and twisted. These things are only wrong from the point of view of human beings. Humans can't see past their own points of view. They can't even see from the eyes of another culture. How could they ever understand what it's like to not really be alive, to be more spirit than living thing?

_What if I never work out amongst the humans? Moql'nkkn asked._

I could go to a counselor, a therapist. I could answer questions, have my parents called, be diagnosed with what I know I'm suffering from. The human me has a case of Depersonalization Disorder so intense it's nearing the point of no return. I need help. I know I do. I make no move to get any. If I did it wouldn't work on my hybrid biology. Pain killers, aspirin, cold medicine, everything's been off with me. Some things have to be doubled, some never work, some work frighteningly well in tiny amounts. The people around me would never understand. This isn't going to go away. This can't be treated by mortal medicine. This isn't Degrassi; it won't go away next week, or the week after that. There's only one possible cure, only one way out.

Human disorders can't affect the dead. Or the undead. Whatever you classify ghosts as. I stand up, my feet never touching the floor, and turn to the window. I open it with hands that barely appear to be there. My reflecton isn't showing up in the window pane anymore, other than a faint outline. There has been a shift inside me, something biological. I've been becoming less human by the day. I can't even fathom what's happening. I just want it to stop. It's not the hope or the despair I can't handle, it's having both and neither going on in my mind at once. Everything is so completely meaningless. I want to feel something, anything. I swing my legs over the ledge. Even if it can't be seen, it's felt. Down below the streets are alive with sounds. Somewhere a woman is laughing so hard I can hear it from my building. I see the lights of the high school football stadium in the distance. Someone's car alarm is going off. And there's music drifting in from somewhere. My sixth sense might as well be my only one for how little it all means to me. I might as well be watching a TV show; no, it's like having a TV show on in the background and not being able to understand a word of it.

I die so that I might live. How poetic and emo. I think the thought would've made me smile once. I think maybe Vlad told me about halfa DNA being unstable once, about mutations and possibly my powers changing as I got older. I think I hear someone scream behind me. Is it day or night? Is it a dream or am I all too awake? I don't want to doubt anything anymore or overthink every damn thing anymore. I want to _know_.

I jump.


	2. Escalation And Recovery

**Author's Notes:** I know most fanfic involving any trip to the hospital skirts around ever going into detail about the visit, but I feel like 'and then I was home again' would be a cop out. I'm not sure if anyone wants to see Danny's psychological evaluation and time as an in-patient, but you're getting it. Call it padding if you will, at least I thought it through part of the way. And you know I'm trying when the edited down version of this clocks in at 4k.

* * *

Ember told me about her sixth sense overloading once.

"It's Hell, Danny boy," she explained, unusually solemn. "That's why I won't get a new guitar, I might mess with people's sixth sense. A lot of things from the Ghost Zone can do that, but we've got an unspoken code not to bring those things here. Messing with people's sixth is..." She shuddered and trailed off.

I never knew what she meant before. I caught a glimpse of what she referred to as 'sixth vision' once, her as she used to be. Red hair, blood in the sunshine red, with eyes such a deep dark purple you could get lost in them at a glance. Then everything went haywire and there were flashes of something horrible, but I was in human form. It was like colors before the colorblind man, an incomprehensible nightmare, something I could not fathom. Words sounds colors feelings motion surrealism BAM back to normal. And in that moment I realized that was what she meant by not wanting to screw with anyone's sixth sense. The thought of that on a larger scale was gag inducing to me. A human mind could snap under that and Ember wasn't capable of that, whatever she liked to think about her own badness. Most ghosts were mavolent, but they weren't truly evil. They didn't want to torture humanity. Death was one thing to them. Torture was a whole different level, especially a spiritual torture without end. A flicker of it slammed me to the ground with its force.

The unconscious mind has no barriers. I was not entirely human anymore. I absorbed it all without the filters or the rational thoughts of my own brain sorting anything for me. It was a pain so intense it goes beyond what a human being could ever imagine, because it wasn't about human nerves or anything measurable in scientific terms. Everything simply exploded. I saw a hundred things at once, and I was blind to the world around me. So many sounds went off I went deaf for a while. I've been told I screamed and thrashed, and the scary part is I remember that. I remembered going still, staring up at the ceiling, listless as the dead. This wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to live, to be alive, not to be so overwhelmed with sensation I couldn't even think. I could hear someone saying something about my pulse being half of what it should be even as panic threatened to swallow me up. Someone was taking my temperature and it wasn't working - it was too low to register. I watched it all unfold like a horrorshow, and I could do nothing.

I watched myself being put onto a stretcher, gently, heard my mother sobbing. Saw Jazz clutch her own arms so tightly she drew blood trying to keep herself together. Witnessed my eyes turn a shamrock green, the color shifting as time stretched on. The forms of people blended together, multiplied, blurred. I couldn't tell what I was seeing anymore. Lights buzzed at me, patterns forming in my vision and flecks of dust glowing like diamonds. I saw my body and I saw the vehicle it was in move away as I stared at my body in the ambulance beside it. I told you it wasn't possible for humans to get this. It just doesn't make sense. Even I can't understand it after going through it. I was everywhere. I was nowhere. There was a fire in my every nerve as I sat detached from my physical body, an acute awareness and a total loss. _Neither one thing nor t' other, the Prince said._ My thoughts weren't my own, if I was having any. Everything was swirling, spiraling into a realm of consciousness I'd never experienced. There was something nagging at me, drawing me closer, away from the body - _my_ body - but I couldn't move, too overwhelmed with what was happening.

If you stand next to a sufficiently large speaker system, you can feel the throb of the music in your body, in the words you speak, in every thought. It was that on a grander scale, if you scratch out music and put in 'noise'. Here's a rough sampling of the madness, in as human of terms as possible:

_She screamed, shoving him aside. What the hell is your problem?_ **Static and screaming, a noise that was between a guitar's highest pitch and a voice, saying or singing something.** Cloudy eyes, hands reaching for the light, a body slathered in its own blood, help please I don't want to- and that thought stopped and cold, cold cold cold. _I want out, someone, anyone, I want out!_ **The rushing music of a club somewhere, flashing gold and yellow lights, a cellphone going off and an erratic heartbeat.** An asymmetrical haircut, skin so pale it was like snow, a car horn going off, she turns, her skirt twirling, too late. _And I'm mostly very tired, I hope it'll be okay._ **Curled up on the closet floor, wish I understood why I feel so afraid. Is she mad at me? I don't understand why. I don't understand.** _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please just don't hurt her, please, it's my fault, leave her alone LEAVE HER ALONE!_ I can't believe the dog ran away, dad's going to kill me...

That was a second of it.

The ride to the hospital was four minutes, the doctors needed two more to get me stabilized. I hadn't died, but I came close enough that I couldn't seem to get back in my body anymore. I couldn't even remember I had a body. That was me? It was a stranger in front of me, a fragile man whose face morphed into a stronger one's, a shifting vision in a world already on tilt. I heard so many things it blended together into static, shifting, spinning, screaming it at me. The buzzing made me want to scream if I'd only had a mouth. The world went dark, suddenly, and yet the noises took hours and hours to fade. When they did release me, I was too out of it to even know, and I sank into unconsciousness gratefully. There were no dreams. There was only silence. It was healing, soothing silence, one that I laid in happily. I let it take me away from all of this, and it rewarded me with dreamless sleep.

Up above me there was a man. His hair was the color of dandelion flowers, his eyes so light they were like silver louds in the sunlight. He reminded me of a day long ago when I had been on the playground during a spring thaw. The world was doused in water and the grass was sickly gray, and up above a silver sky covered us all up. I think I climbed the fence. Or was that not me? Or did it never happen in the first place? I think the man was very real, tangible, his skin warm, voice soft and gentle. He was whisperng to me. He said things I didn't even begin to hear. All I knew was my sixth sense when I closed my eyes, his presence a light in the dark. For a split second I saw some kind of color in the light, gold tipped with blue like a candle. I heard him speak to someone else, and then there was a sharp pain in my wrist and it all faded again.

"Madeline, he's going to be incoherent when he wakes up. It's a normal side effect of the upper we used to increase his heart rate. You can't push him for a full explanation. Jack, you have to stay calm. This is a delicate situation."

"Oh, Danny... why didn't you tell us, sweetie, we would've helped..."

"Mads, if you need to go outside-"

"No, he needs me. Zoran, I can stay, right?"

"Of course. But don't interrogate him off the bat. For his sake, and yours - Madeline!" He gasped, and my mother's sobs became muffled. "I... it's okay. It's okay, I promise." A pause. "Jack, I can't feel my shoulders."

"That's my Mads for ya," he muttered, sounding despondent.

I opened my eyes. My mother was being held by a tall, slender man with golden hair and a labcoat. My father was leaning over to take my hand. There was a constant pain in my right leg, which was encased in a cast. The room was painted dull oranges and dusky browns, restful colors, with a painting of some foreign houses hung on one wall. There was a large window; out there dawn was rapidly approaching. I felt more than saw that it was a private room. My whole body felt so heavy I couldn't have sat up to save my life. It was like weights were tied around me, dragging me down. I wanted to panic but I couldn't. I was trapped in my own body again.

"Daniel," the doctor muttered. "You've been out for a few days. I'm Doctor Zlotan. I'm a friend of your parents and I'm here to help... and to be hugged."

My mother sniffed, and released him, letting her arms fall at her sides. She looked incredibly downtrodden.

"Hey," I muttered weakly. I'd offer up a witty one liner, but I had nothing prepared for this situation.

"When the drugs have worn off, we need to have a very serious talk - all of us, Jazz too," Dr. Zlotan said quietly. "Until then, I'm going to let your parents talk to you. Unless you want me to shoo them out, of course."

"S'fine," I heard myself replying, staring up at the ceiling. "Can't get worse."

"Oh, Danny," my mother repeated, her words not touching me. "Baby, I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry, sweetie..."

I looked up at my father. His face was crystal clear as he came closer. Why did it feel like he was a million miles away? He didn't have any words, but he made his presence known by ruffling my hair. Blankly, I studied the ceiling, the room, the doctor. Everything felt heavy and thick. I wished I could fly out of here and be lighter than air. That felt real, the cold wind ripping at me, the rain pelting me, the loss of gravity, whose weight had become suffocating and impossible to put up with. I closed my eyes and sighed, trying to suck in enough air to really _feel_ it. There was nothing but a hollow cavity in my chest, something I was all too aware of in my newly disturbed state. This was probably because of the drugs. At least, that's what I told myself, over and over again.

What I did next I have no explanation for. Let me try to put it this way: have you ever been so angry, so frustrated, so totally furious you broke down and sobbed? I don't mean a stray tear, I mean real sobs, the kind that physically hurt. I was through the sobbing stage and had fallen into an abyss a stage beyond that. It was total hopelessness. It was a feeling of utter impossibility; that it could never change. That this was all there was. There was no reason to get out of bed as Danny Fenton, to go to school and go to movies and eat dinner without a family. There was no reason to walk the streets or buy a game. There was no purpose left in the hollow human shell's life. I wouldn't just be infinitely better as Phantom, I would be happier even in misery, because that would mean feeling even the tiniest thing.

I'd always mocked people who claimed to feel nothing as emo, because they said it with such obvious anguish it was clear something was there. I wasn't even particularly upset about not feeling anything. I just existed, the way a rock or road did. Everything was beyond my effort, even being upset, even comforting my mother, even words. My sixth sense whispered at me, images of people lit up like stars in the blackness of my other-vision, stray words and thoughts still reaching me, a melody that soothed me. It was like white noise or a radio left on, something familiar and right. I breathed in and caught phantom scents, people here before me, doctors not on duty, nurses not here. _And Tam asked her what she was looking at. Saaski said, "Don't you see them there?"_

"What're you thinking about? Stay with us, Danny," the doctor said sharply. I blinked up at him.

"Homework. My book... English class," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes. It took all my effort to do so. "I finished the story but I need to do a report..."

"We'll take care of it," my mother soothed quickly. "We can talk to the school about giving you more time, bring you paper, anything you need. Is..." Her face fell. "Is that what this is about? School?"

"I don't know." It was an honest reply. "I don't even know anymore."

"Well, that's what we're here to find out," Dr. Zlotan stated calmly. "I'm here to do your psychological evaluation."

That reminded me. "Where's Jazz?"

My parents shared worried looks, but said nothing. Dr. Zlotan looked between them for a moment, then sighed almost imperceptibly before looking at his clipboard. "She's not taking this well," he replied carefully, words deliberate. "She's with a friend of a friend of yours, some guy named H... Hex..."

"Hxis?" I supplied.

"That's the one, yes. She was too hysterical for anyone else to talk to. You have to understand, we Psychology nuts take this kind of thing as a person failure. She'll be back to check on you, but she needs a while to pull herself together."

I should've questioned what Sam's boyfriend was doing in the hospital to comfort Jazz in the first place. Did they even know each other? I didn't even think twice about it, sprawled out on that bed, laid flat on my back and neaqtly folded like the dead. All I could think was that it wasn't Jazz's fault. This wasn' about her. She'd suspected my diagnosis, given me the words for it, tried to help... and I hadn't reached for it because some sick part of me wanted to give into this strange new state of mind. The same morbid curiosity that drove me to watch horror movies, antagonize Dash or flirt with Paulina was driving me to new and unfathomably weird behavior. And I liked it. I wanted it. I would have left my body permanently if I hadn't been found, if people hadn't been there to remind me I needed to stay. I would have left.

Where would I have gone?

What would happen to me? Could I just walk away in ghost form, just leave this body behind? Could I just stop all this? I had slipped out of my body earlier. It wasn't like overshadowing someone, it was like... like the way your body feels after you get out of water, the way that air tastes sweetest when you've been holding your breath, the way a dream felt while dreaming it. Perfect, real, vivid, personal, however nonsensical it was. My sixth sense had hit me like a brick to the head, true, but it was _there_. I could feel. I could see. I felt blind suddenly, blind, lame, weak, and unwilling to stay in this choking apathy any more. I wanted to fly. I wanted to leave my body and... and not come back.

Ever had a thought so insane it made you double take after thinking it? I'd had those so many times since I became half and half, that it was almost impossible to question my sanity anymore. The first year was fine. The second was difficult, a fight to repress my own emotions, my dreams, the flares of sixth sense I had. Now as I neared the third anniversary of my death and rebirth, things were spiraling out of control. I thought then, as my parents left the room and Dr. Zoran Zlotan sat down beside me, of Vlad. Of his temper, his extravagence. He had wines, vodkas, cigars in his house. He ate expensive food overdosed in spices. I always thought it was just Vlad being Vlad. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was some kind of attempt to feel something via anything.

"So, Danny, I've got all your medical information from your parents. All I need now is for you to answer a few questions. Your sister explained some of her theories to me, and I have to say she's disturbingly smart, but people inside the family are often off in diagnosing their family members," he explained to me, looking me in the eyes. "Hence me asking odd questions repeatedly. It helps clarify her or deny her theories."

"She's the smart one," I confirmed with a nod. "Ask away, I'm pretty awake, I think. as much as I ever am."

"That's part of what I wanted to ask you. You've said you don't feel awake. Your sister said it's a frequent feeling. She also said that you've been daydreaming more lately, and you've had lengthy periods of non responsive behavior. What exactly can you tell me about that?"

"Um... I just... I can't stay in my head sometimes... no, that's not right. I just don't... I don't feel, like this is real. Like I'm sitting here. Sometimes I feel like that for days. It's like dreaming. I'm dreaming and I wake up and it's noon or midnight and the whole day's been a blur."

"Are you saying you don't know what you've done that day?"

"No, it's just distant. May as well be a TV show," I added dryly. "I don't care about things. I don't... I don't know why. But it's been so much worse lately."

He was making rapid notes. "When you say lately, what do you mean?"

"The past three, four months... I don't know, it's all blending together in my mind. I'm not depressed, though. I don't want to kill myself," I struggled to explain. "I just want to live."

"When did you first notice these feelings of apathy?"

I bit my lip. "It comes and goes. I can't remember a first time, just when it got worse. Freshman year. And it wasn't so bad, until lately."

"But it's been increasing with time," he muttered, looking distressed. "Your sister said as much to me. As did her friend."

"Hxis doesn't know me," I objected, only to be cut off.

"And even _he_ has seen an increase in your listless behavior; that means you need help. You should have reached out for it," Dr. Zlotan added gently. "We can't help people we don't know need any."

I rubbed at my eyes. "I'm... sorry, I guess. I don't know what I was thinking. I didn't want to die, I wanted to live. It made sense at the time."

"I see. Now, I know how odd this will sound, but I need you to answer some questions about your social life..."

That was when things began to blur again. Question. Answer. More questions. I debated lying to him, pretending I was fine, but I was far past the point of even trying anymore. What good would lying do? I was damaged, hurting, and in desperate need of help before I did something even dumber. I didn't want to stay like this. He could help me find a way to change that didn't involve death or attempts at it. I didn't have much hope in him. I just figured it was worth a shot. That was my way of thinking by that point. Worth a shot, worth trying, not worth hoping for. When he asked I laid my heart down at his feet, my crushes, Sam's new boyfriend, Tucker and his techie girl who was a friend but not a girlfriend, my grades, everything. I talked and didn't realize I was still talking, drifting in and out of concious thought like a car weaving through traffic. I really just wanted them all to leave me alone so I could sleep some more, because dreams were the most real.

Eventually, they did so. By then it was nearly nine AM, and I sank into sleep as the world went to school. News of Danny Fenton's suicide attempt would be spreading. Rumors would flicker in and out of existance. People would console Sam and Tucker, homework would be brought to the hospital, and all the while all I would do was sit there and wait. What I was waiting for, I didn't know. I only knew I had to. Things would change if I did so.

Eventually.


	3. Walls Of Dreaming

**Author's Note: **Thank you to all my reviewers! It's always heartwarming to write for the Danny Phantom section, because they give more reviews than most of the little pbscure fandoms I write for. It's heartwarming to see how many people have this thing on their Alerts list, especially since the premise is something I was nervous about.

Also, while it's just a suggestion, the song Never Look At The Sun by The Delgados might be worth a listen to for this chapter. I have a small list of songs I listen to for each fanfic, and this is very much a fitting one. Look it up if you're interested.

* * *

I'm in school.

Ms. Asaji's writing something on the board, but Math was never my forte and Calculus is kicking my ass. I can't even make heads or tails of it anymore. Honestly, it might as well be Arabic or Hindi or something; I can't even find the numbers in this mess. How the heck does Asaji find joy in this madness? I tune her out, opting instead to watch my classmates. Riley O'Hara is ignoring Dash, who keeps flirting shamelessly with her. Paulina is talking to Seth Winters, oblivious to the glares of jealousy Dash keeps sending her as Seth helps her get this mathmatical nightmare. Tucker's on his DS chatting with Tien, whose smile reaches her dark gray eyes as she laughs. The lights are buzzing up ahead as the smell of clean tile lingers in the air. Next to me Taylor Vodayo is taking notes, her hands so fast they're a blur, her face pure concetration. On the other side of me Star Hedgemouse is fast asleep, smiling peacefully. Everything is as it should be, as it's always been. Normal, secure, content. I'm lost in class, but other than that everything's okay.

Then I hear a voice, a Scottish accented one with a lifting intonation to it. Her voice gets higher as she panics. "Please, sir, I can't go in there. I won't work out 'mongst them!" No one in class turns to look as her voice gets closer and higher. "Please, please, I can't, I just want to go home!" No one even looks up as the door flies open. She's shoved in.

Saaski Moql'nkkn.

Her hair's golden-blonde, pulled back with string, loose strands flying about her heart shaped face. Her snub nose scrunches up as she looks around. Her eyes flash and change from green to black, reflective pools. Her skin is darker than Tucker's. She smiles when she sees me, her body relaxing. I'm on my feet and she's moving towards me as everyone else ignores us. She's thin as a rake, gangly, flat chested and tall. I reach out for her. She beams at me and reaches back. The sunlight catches her hands and illuminates them, like two flashes of lightning.

That's when I wake up.

My breath stalled in my chest. My eyes were shut tightly. Just a half a second more, just one more moment and I... I almost had her. I breathed in, forcing myself to try to calm down. The pang of loss in my chest was nothing real. It wasn't real. This was real, right? I wish I had a litmus test of some kind to give the world so I could make sure I wasn't imagining things. I rubbed the fabric of the hospital blankets between my fingers, trying to establish that I was really here. I opened my eyes and studied the outside, unable to remember that it was actually supposed to be night, not day. I was supposed to be woken up for dinner.

My mouth felt dry, and I was going to attempt to find the glass of water they'd left me when the nurse burst in, looking around quickly. She looked at me as if she had never seen me before. "You're fine," she assured me suddenly. "It was just a glitch of the cameras, nothing more. You're obviously still here. Dinner's in five minutes."

When she was gone, I pulled back the sheet. My legs were invisible under them, still solid but not there past the knees. I pulled down my hospital gown and made a mental note to ask for socks. Well, okay, _a_ sock, given the cast. Although my clothes kept going transparent with me, sometimes they didn't, and that would be in some ways even worse - for me to suddenly be missing extremities or limbs wouldn't go over well. I needed to stop this. I needed Vlad, truthfully. He had more knowledge about our physiology and biology than any other person on Earth. If anyone could tell me what was really happening, he could. This needed to stop before the nurses began to suspect anything. My parents were in no state to deal with my other identity. They'd been through enough already.

I felt a pang of guilt at the thought. My parents, Jazz, Tucker, Sam... I hoped they were all holding up okay. I didn't want to think about hat this was doing to them emotionally. Even in this messed up state, I still cared about them. They were my family, my inner circle, and I'd sprung this on them without even a note of explanation. I really didn't want my dinner after this occurred to me, but my mortal body needed nourishment. I wasn't exempt from that. No one was.

Hospital food, despite being a joke topic for decades in the United States, was actually pretty decent.

I didn't like the corn, but I never had. And lately everything I ate felt like it didn't matter, didn't have a taste, so it could've been fine steak and I'd have shrugged it off. All that mattered was that I make myself eat enough to get through the day. I was still human. In theory, anyway. So I needed food. I needed some kind of substance, I supposed, and maybe if I'd had access to Vlad's fine cuisine I'd have eaten gladly. Unfortunately, normal wasn't doing it for me. Not anymore. Normal wasn't nearly enough to keep me going. I picked at my food, tried to focus on what I was doing. I found myself looking out the window and the sky longingly. Flying would be good right now.

It would also freak out the entire staff. And I had a feeling that keeping myself hidden was going to be an uphill fight here. Now, _that_ was something I could focus on, because it was alarming as hell. I couldn't seem to get my eyes to be blue. I could make them green if I tried, and they'd fade to a more blue green, but that was it. My incoming gray hairs were noticeable. I even seemed paler, though it might have been blood loss. I'd been trying to tell myself it was stress or maybe a trick of the light. In the aftermath of my total break from reality or whatever this was, I couldn't honestly even tell myself that anymore. This was progressing. I was changing. It wasn't for the better. All I wanted was to go back to before things began to be so painfully detached.

I really had nothing to do after dinner, with all the doctors and therapists on break until morning, so I slept again. I'd never been that tired before. Then again, I'd never been that injured before. The nurse told me it was common with broken bones. She left the TV remote near my bed in case I woke up in the middle of the night. I had no interest in any more surreal worlds. So I closed my eyes and drifted off, letting myself relax into the pillows. I could swear my sixth sense was flaring up again, lighting up the darkness in front of my closed eyes with figures and forms just out of reach.

Then my dream started up. Like all dreams, the first part of it was completely a mystery; I just found myself in the middle of it, midway through a speech, talking to a bunch of people I seemed to know about the paranormal. I stop speaking and smile sheepishly, adding, "This is all just in theory."

A boy with thick dark brown hair and eyes the color of topaz smiles and tells me, "It's brilliant. I say we go there and test it out in person."

The other people shrink back, but the boy with the topaz eyes looks completely sure of his idea as he loops his arm through mine. His smile lights up the room, his tanned skin warm against mine as he tells me he has faith in me. The smell of his leather coat lingers in the air between us. In that way dreams always make sense, we're suddenly there, wherever that is, inside a dark building. His flashlight is the only light, our footsteps the only sound. He's holding my hand loosely, to keep us from getting seperated. The halls lead to more halls which have more doors than I can count, the dark wood scratched up in odd ways. Everything has a dark blue tone to it, save for his eyes. Up ahead there is a red door with five locks on it.

"If your theory's right," he says to me, and the rest of it is lost as a roar sounds off behind us. We turn. I see indigo blue light leaking out of small eyes, and then everything erupts into light.

I wake up then, and reach for the TV remote, but not so I can watch anything.

I need something real to hold onto.

* * *

The key difference between Depersonalization Disorder and something far better is that I could tell what was real.

It all felt surreal, but I could look at TV or comics and say, "That's fiction." I dreamed and, however real it felt, I knew it was fake. I didn't confuse it with reality. I knew what reality was. It felt a million miles away and I couldn't seem to be part of it. That didn't mean I didn't understand what it was. Things were real. They just never felt like it. There was a profound difference between what I had and other conditions. I didn't have hallucinations or breaks from reality. I had no problem understanding that this was real, what I had issues with was that nothing had any meaning at all. It was enough to make me want to scream, which I didn't because it would inevitably turn into broken sobbing. I could feel it in my throat. I knew that if I managed to feel anything it would overflow into outright hysterics. I was locked up. I wasn't sure how to get out and the terrifying thing about Jazz's diagnosis being right was that no one else knew how to help me, either. That was the part that made me want to go ghost and never go back: no one knew how to make this any better.

There was no treatment for it. At all. They had a little success with a drug called Naloxone, but it wasn't a sure fire thing. There would always be relapses. There would always be days like this, hours of blurs and meaningless words. Past Naloxone there was literally nothing, absolutely nothing. They could treat the anxiety part of it, if you had that. Past that they knew nothing, knew no cause, or treatment, or therapy that could haul someone out of this numb darkness. My mother cried so hard her body shook. My father wrapped an arm around me as they went through the diagnosis in detail, because the papers I'd done that morning and my interview with the doctor had been proof solid of what I had. My problem had a name. That didn't make it easier to combat. It didn't make it an easier burden to bear. All it did was drain the hope from my mother's eyes, as she absorbed the cold scientific facts that this would never go away. It would always be back for me, and if Naloxone didn't work I was out of options. My father's grip on me tightened protectively as I shut my eyes and tried to breathe.

"I give up," were the first words out my mouth. "That does it, I quit. Stop the world, God, I want to get off."

"It'll be okay, Danny," my mother said, straightening up immediately and wiping at her eyes. "Your father and I are scientists, we know people, we can get more options, opinions, treatments..."

"No, you can't," Dr. Zlotan said flatly, though not unkindly. "Madeline, you need to be realistic about this. There is _a_ treatment. No more. Nothing else has ever worked."

"Yet," she replied fiercely, standing up and putting her hands on my shoulders. "If it takes my whole life, I will find something to fix this. I'm never going to give up on my family," she added, looking into my eyes. "Never, Danny. We could never stop loving you, no matter what. I promise we'll never abandon you. It's not over yet."

I wrapped my arms around her as my father drew us into a group hug. In their warm embrace I felt how scared and determined they were, my sixth sense showing me all their terror and all their energy, the dual fear and hope raging inside them. I looked over at Jazz, who was trying not to cry. When my parents released me she flung herself at me, and held me so tightly I could hear her heartbeat. She looked like she hadn't been sleeping at all lately. Everyone seemed exhausted and it was all my fault. It was my fault they were so broken hearted. I should never have jumped. I should have died when I hit the ground. I shouldn't ever have gone down and messed with the Ghost Portal all those years ago. I should've called Vlad. I... I messed up everything. This was my fault. This was all my fault. I held my sister and felt her aura, saw how it was weaker, smaller, like a dying candle's light, and I wondered how I would ever fix this. What had I done? To them, to myself, to everyone. I inhaled and tried to think clearly. What was I supposed to do now? All I could do was take Naloxone and pray for a miracle to happen.

And call Vlad.

That was a surreal experience and honestly would've been even if I wasn't in this state of mind. I mean, I wasn't exactly fond of him. It was bizarre that he ended up being the only person I knew that would even start to understand what was happening to me. Without a doubt it was the strangest phone call I'd ever made, laying in my hospital bed, staring up at the humming tube lights up above me. He picked up on the third ring and seemed as surprised as I was that I was calling. Can you blame him? This entire situation sounded like something on a very special episode of whatever. I smiled humorlessly into the phone.

"I'm in the hospital. Did my mom tell you what happened?" I asked, sounding oddly detached. "I jumped out the window of my room."

"Daniel!" he exclaimed. "Whatever did you do that for? Furthermore, why didn't you 'go ghost', as you so eloquently put it?"

"I was trying to. Permanently. It made sense at the time. Didn't you ever want to leave the world?" I mused aloud, rubbing my eyes with my hand absently. "I just wanted to know something was real. I... you mentioned once that the accident could have 'psychological ramifications'. What did you mean?"

There was a long silence as Vlad drew in a deep breath, let it out and took in another. "There are... conditions, that can occur. Disassociative Fugue, Disassociative Identity Disorder..."

"Depersonalization Disorder?" I suggested bitterly, suddenly fighting back tears. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, God, Danny... I thought you were exempt from it. You were doing so well, and you were in no mood to hear my warnings about what you considered to be an unsupported theory. I wanted to believe you were the exception. It seemed like for a long time..." He made a sound like he was clearing his throat. "How's your mother taking this?"

"She's decided she's going to come up with her own treatment. She won't accept that there's only one treatment. You know how she is," I sighed. "She's trying to keep it together, like it's not all hopeless. Jazz's worse, I think. But you're the one who has actual data on my physiology, knows anything about how drugs work on people like us. I need your help. And I know you'll use it as an opportunity to try to turn me into your son or protoge or whatever, but I don't care anymore if it means I can stop living my life in my head. It's like... like..."

"Like you're watching from the outside, looking in, and you don't understand what you see," he finished quietly.

I blinked in surprise. "Vlad, do you have-"

"No. As an owner of so many companies and businesses I've been psycholigcally evaluated quite regularly; I'm fine and I can prove it," he interrupted me, tone self-mocking. "Perfectly fit to lead."

"Does it ever get any easier?" I asked after a long silence. "This drifting feeling, I mean."

"I'll be transferring you to a better facility for your treatment," he replied coolly. "Where I'll be able to run tests on your physical condition in person. We'll figure this out, little badger."

He hung up without answering my question.

* * *

"Sam and Tucker are about ready to break in, you know. If Jazz doesn't beat them to it, anyway."

I turned. "Hxis, how are you not getting thrown out by security?"

He shrugged. "Helps when your dad owns the building, I suppose. Jazzy sent me out to do recon on you, since they didn't let your family visit you at hardly at all today."

There was something about the way he said it, so cold and detached, that made it strangely comforting. Like he wasn't freaking out, like he didn't really care one way or another. Hxis Yolotli was a relatively new student, having transferred in midway through last semester. He'd instantly captured Sam's heart by virtue of being a black clad, somber paranormal investigator with authority issues. At first I'd been jealous enough to want to take his head off, but as my mental state worsened I just didn't have it in me. He looked over at me with curious, probing eyes the color of ink. I could see my own reflection in them. His black hair was slicked back, and he leaned against the doorway with his arms folded casually. His face as expressionless as it had always been. I couldn't ever recall seeing him smile or frown, just that eternally bored, apathetic look puctuated by serious frowns. It was easy to fall under the impression Hxis hated you until you knew him; then you found out how very little he hated in this world. That was the difference between his rebellion and Sam's. Hers was anger based a lot of the time. His was a calm, well reasoned out and thoughtful disdain.

"Why were you in the hospital when Jazz was?" I asked curiously. "And don't give me that crap about your dad owning the building. It was three in the morning."

"I have Da Costa's Syndrome. My dad's in denial." He waved his hand in a vague, dismissive motion. "He's a hypochondriac if you ask me. But since I was there, and Jazz needed my help, I gave it to her. She needed freak out time. And maybe she needed someone to listen. I'm not sure why your sister likes me; I sure as hell don't. I suppose in a dire situation anyone'll do. All this is totally besides the point. How are you doing?"

"I'm... I don't know, I guess I just can't wrap my head around this. Everything's sort of messed up right now."

"Sam wants to know if they're mistreating you. Say yes and I have these jackasses fired before sunrise tomorrow," he added quickly.

"I'm fine. Everyone's been nice so far, actually. Things aren't so bad. The food's good. If the psych. tests come back right I'll be out soon anyway. They're just trying to confirm their diagnosis, but no one's been mean about it."

"Anything you want me to smuggle you from the outside?" Hxis asked. "I know this place isn't exactly Happy Fun World."

"No, I... really, I think I just want to go home."

He nodded, as if this was a standard reaction. "I know the feeling. But you need help. And even if I could get you out, I wouldn't. You need to get this under control, Fenton. Whether you like it or not."

"I don't know what I like anymore. Or what I want. I just feel tired."

Hxis chuckled mirthlessly. "Welcome to my world, Fenton. That feeling is what I refer to as 'everyday life'. You get used to it. Anyway, tomorrow I'm going to be giving you a thorough examination to make sure you're not suffering from a paranormal affliction; if you are we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now just get some sleep and tell the nurses that Dr. Yolotli's son is your frend. That ought to get them to lay off you."

"There are paranormal causes for this?" I asked hopefully, perking up. "Like what?"

"Proxy Syndrome, transcendant possession, ghostly possession, a metachoric experience..." Hxis waved his hand vaguely again. "It could be a curse. You've got some indicators of a reincarnated memory, with the dreams and the surrealist feeling, but I can't tell what's wrong, exactly. You're a hard person to read and I don't have any equipment on me. Since we're in Amity Park, though, I'm willing to bet there's a fair chance of something supernatural going on. I'm not prepared to rule it out as a theory until we've looked into it properly. Neither is Jazz."

I wanted to beg him to stay, to explain more, but he slipped out the door as quickly and silently as he'd come, leaving me alone with my head spinning. Hxis wasn't like my parents - he dabbled in everything, had studied a little bit of everything, and knew a lot more than I did. I didn't know what half his suggestions even were. I didn't understand what he could possibly do to determine what was happening. All I knew was that he'd used the word possession twice. It made me shudder. I wasn't sure what the difference was between that and being overshadowed, other than that it was a lot harder to get a possession to stop. But in some sick way I'd almost prefer it to being stuck with an incurable, never ending nightmare of a life. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life feeling so adrift, so lost and alone. I didn't want this to be real. I wanted a paranormal explanation, a supernatural solution, anything that would be fixable. Somehow this stranger had become my last hope, and I hated being so helpless, so dependant on him for my sanity. I already felt a kind of growing resentment building up towards Hxis, his haughty and cold attitude, and his arrogance. In the same minute it also struck me that I was closer to him in this one moment than I had been the entire time we were trying to be friends for the sake of our mutual love of Sam.

Sick of this already, I laid back in my bed and wondered what I'd ever done to deserve this.


	4. Blame Beauty And Blood

**Author's Note:** Okay, in light of this chapter being as messed up as it is, I think I should put up some kind of disclaimer. I'm not depressed. I'm not suicidal. I'm not even all that stressed at the moment. I'm not actually feeling any of this. I'm listening to appropriately dark music, doing oodles of research and then typing away and praying it all ends up being readable without being wangst. I'll confess a fascination with some rather unusual things - the paranormal and psychology chief among them - but I'm okay. I know the concern's based out of the right hearted compassion so many people don't have anymore, and I appreciate the concern. I know it's out of love. But seriously, I'm not feeling what Danny is; I'm actually pretty nervous that I'm not getting his feelings across well and that it's incomprehensible. So please, don't worry about me. Don't send me a PM or an email asking if I'm okay. I'm fine. I promise.

Oh! Fun fact: reality testing isn't something I made up for this fic. It exists and they use it on schizophrenics and people in the disassociative spetrum. I've learned so much useless stuff in doing this fanfic.

The songs I listened to most while writing this were Weak And Powerless by A Perfect Circle and Almost Happy by K's Choice, two bands and songs I highly reccommend.

Sorry about this chapter not being as long as the others. I did try, though.

**Author's Terrifying, Disturbing Research Disclaimer:** Depersonalization Disorder is often coupled with anxiety disorders. I'm not making that up. This is not a plot twist, it's a fact. Go look it up right now. I'll wait. It's proven, in droves, and while I'm aware it does not make logical sense, it's very true. I'd just like to point out that there are people, right now, as you read this, who have DPD (which a reviewer informed me was the actual abbreviation, not DP as I'd assumed) and anxiety issues. That's right - because life hasn't fucked these people over enough, they then get to have panic attacks on top of apathy. Google it. It's not as rare as it should be.

Yeah, how messed up is it that the most depressing parts of this fic are all realistic? I think I prefer shallow fluffy fics by comparison.

* * *

Every second is too much.

Every moment, every thought, every blink and tick of the clock is one more than I can take. I'm suffocating. My clothes feel so heavy I want to rip them off. My world is frighteningly hot and it's all just too much. Jazz, my mother, my father, all those tears, God, the looks on their faces... I don't want to ever see them like that again, I can't take this guilt, this horrible hopelessness. I can't take my own life please, give me someone else's, anyone else's. I have to get out of here. I have to break free. I can't do this, I just can't. I can't take another second of this faux-life. Everyone thinks I'm strong and I can hold up under pressure, but it's all a lie. That's never been me. Even when I was smiling on the outside, I was breaking down under the weight of it all. Someone else should have been given these powers, someone strong and brave. Somebody hand my powers over to Saaski. If she can take on the wrath of two worlds, she can handle this. Not me. Never me. I've always been weaker than I looked. I've always tried so hard to keep myself together when it's all going wrong when all I really want to do is scream. I want to throw someone up against a wall and rant until my lungs give out. I never asked for this. I never wanted this. I never acted like an arrogant jerk who deserved spectral powers and when I got them I never used them to make myself rich or hurt anyone.

Why is this happening? Why won't it stop? I just want it to stop. It's worse than pain, so much worse. No one else will ever understand what this feels like. It's like I'm trapped and I can throw myself against the glass wall seperating me from them, scream and hammer my fists to a bloody pulp, and nothing will make anyone notice. I hang out with Sam and Tucker every day but they never noticed. Never once did they ask me if I was okay. Sam only has eyes for that pretty boy with the paranormal obsession; why don't I hate that like I should? Simple. He's better for her. He's real. I'm not. I'm so fake I can't even stand to see my own reflection anymore. As I lay here drowning in my own head, she's off to better things. This is for the best. Thank God Valerie never got to see me like this. Thak God I found Tucker a girlfriend before I lost everything entirely. She'll be good for him. He needs someone cheerful and warm like that. They'll be better off without me, and I'll be happier, too. Even if religion is wrong and there isn't anything after death, the pain will make me more alive in those final seconds than I've been for years in this life.

I stagger somewhere. I can't even make out where I am anymore, can't even think about that, or about the heat, I just want out. I find it where I left it, and I begin the process of ripping myself apart. It's so real I cry out in something akin to joy, incoherent syllables without meaning as I drive it in deeper, deeper. I don't work past the pain, I work with it. I embrace it. I revel in every second of it as I destroy my arms, my wrists, making patterns only I could ever really understand. The red is so perfect. It's so real. I'm real. Everything's real. I want more. And more. The pain is like a hundred stab wounds, overwhelming the apathetic world I'm trapped in. I raise the blade to my neck and close my eyes, inhaling the scent of blood and readying myself for the hardest and most wonderful thing I've ever done.

_Despair, Tork'kr said to Moql, looking astounded. That's a human trick, that one._

My eyes open.

Just a dream. I inhaled sharply, quickly, trying to calm myself down, trying to get the waves of disgust and terror and revulsion to calm. The panic rolled in, waves of it. I was really going insane. I hated myself in that moment because it was tempting. It was a beautiful idea. And I was sane enough to know how wrong it was. I wanted nothing more then and there for it to all stop, for the maddening thoughts and jumbled dreams to go away. I would never ask to be famous or wealthy or married, I would always go to church, anything, anything to end this. The vision of what I wanted to do and was terrified of doing haunted me. I clutched at my head, tears slipping down my cheeks. Please, God, no more. Please, no more, I just want a second of peace...

I was still freaking out when the nurse gave me an anti-anxiety pill. I pressed it under my tongue and prayed like I had never prayed before. I wasn't even sure who I was praying to or what I was praying for. I wasn't sure why I was praying. I just begged whoever ran the universe to make it stop, make it stop please, please. Anything but this. I repeated myself, rambled, held myself in a semi-fetal position until finally the drug kicked in enough for me to stop feeling like my blood was on fire. So I laid there and cried like a little kid. It was pathetic, it was weak, it was a testimony to how far I was falling and how fast I was doing so. Eventually the tears dried out. I sat there staring blankly ahead, afraid to fall asleep, not feeling like this mess could possibly be my own life. It was like that line from that story Sam liked, the one with the super hero girl who couldn't get rid of her powers.

_This should not be happening, Himei whispered like a prayer. This should not be happening._

Vlad promised me he'd get me transferred in a day or two. Hxis promised to be back tomorrow. It _was_ tomorrow, technically, another three AM gone wrong for me. I wasn't sure I could last until then. I didn't want to stay here until then. I wanted to run away. I wanted to fly away and find somewhere to just lay down and die. I wanted to down something, vodka or whatever drug I could find, to take the dreams away. I wanted to scream but the more the panic rose the less I could voice it, until finally I just laid there and waited for time to pass. Because I didn't know what I wanted, what was going to happen, or what I could handle. I had relinquished control of my insanity. I was giving up in every sense of the word. I didn't care what they did to me anymore. Nothing mattered.

Hxis found me like that at four in the morning, crying silent tears, staring numbly at the sheets. And he did something I'll never forget so long as I live. His stoic, normally uncaring expression softened. He reached out for me and pulled me close. It would've been awkward had I been all there. His embrace was hesitant, uncomfortable and it was obvious he had no idea what he was doing. But it was the act of contact, of something physical and real, that snapped me out of it at least a little. Fresh sobs choked me. I wrapped my arms around him, just to have something I could hold onto. It didn't matter that I barely knew him. The only thing that mattered was his heartbeat under my ear, the feel of his breathing, his aura every shade of gold and silver, steady and consistant as always. For all his apathy and his constant snark, at least he was stable.

Eventually I released him, apologizing as I tried to wipe my tears away and get myself under control. He cut me off by shaking his head. "It's okay. Anything you do... it's okay. I get it. I promise I get it. You won't scare me off. It's alright."

"I don't want to be like this," I murmured weakly. "I don't want to be like this, Hxis. Please, please make it stop."

He looked over his shoulder. "That's what we're here to do. Danny, this is Iolana. Io, this is why I broke into your house this mornng."

I blinked and focused on the form leaning against the door, observing quietly. Iolana was a lanky, lithe girl with dark sepia skin and golden hair. Her eyes were nutmeg brown and her arms were heavily scarred, but she wore a sleeveless yellow shirt, white flared jeans and sandals despite the cold early morning. She smiled warmly at me. Somehow I couldn't help but think of the fairy tale I'd read. She wasn't out of the ordinary, but in my current state of mind the tiniest details seemed real - the scent of Hxis, that cigarettes and chocolate blend, and the home done stitches on his jeans - and the big things seemed fake. Iolana seemed fake, impossible, and all she was doing was watching me with warm eyes full of comfort and sympathy.

She inhaled and sighed heavily. "Well, Hxis, this is worth the trip over, but I still say a call would've sufficed. And you could've warned me that he was part ghost, 'cause holy crap, man, that complicates everything."

"So he _is_ possessed?" Hxis asked, raising his eyebrows. "Shit. What is it?"

"No, it's not possession. It's like... I can't even begin to explain it. Like he's not entirely alive. Like he's more sixth sense sensitive than anyone I've ever seen and yet not, at all, even remotely psychic or empathic." She rubbed her temples. "We need to do some testing, figure this out. Because I don't even know what I'm looking at here. It's like two auras in one body. And not in a reincarnation way, either, I..." she trailed off, making a vague gesture at me with both her hands. "I get a headache just looking at him. Danny, what the hell happened to you? And don't you even try to tell me nothing, 'cause no one's born this way. Ever."

"My parents have a portal into the Ghost Zone," I explained, choosing my words carefully and trying to focus on reality instead of drifting away into oblivion while they talked. "I was in it once while it turned on. I guess it changed me somehow. Everything was fine for a long time after that, though. It wasn't bad until the past few months, it was almost normal before that..."

"The hospital did reality testing on him, right?" she asked Hxis quietly. He nodded. "I want a copy of that, whenever you can get it. Now brace yourself. We've got work to do."

* * *

Have you ever met someone who inspired you, without really doing anything?

Iolana put me through a bunch of random, disjointed and nonsensical crap. Read this, what do you see in this photo, have you ever heard of this, can you read this with your sixth sense - I won't even pretend to have the faintest idea what she was going on about. It was all jibberish to me in the end. What mattered wasn't the questions she asked me, or the answers I gave her. The only thing I could focus on was that she cared enough to try to help me. Who the heck was I to her? I wasn't the nerd from her school because she wasn't in my school. I wasn't Danny Phantom to her because I hadn't told her that. I was just some random human being and she wasn't being paid for this. She cared.

And in some messed up way, Vlad did, too. Or he wouldn't have had me transferred and used his influence to get it done as fast as possible. He entered as Iolana left, the two of them staring each other up and down, puzzled. That was when it hit me that really I was useless to both of them. If I ever got better, I wouldn't be any different than how I had been before - a goofy kid with bad grades. I was no one, really, in the grand scheme of things. I had never done anything to earn this. I had never had a kind word to Vlad or a word ever to Iolana. With my powers on the fritz, I'd have thought Vlad would turn away from me. Instead he arrived at seven AM to discuss the particulars of my transferral.

"Who were they? Friends?" Vlad asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I'd have thought Miss Manson would've been visiting you, if anyone could get in at this hour."

I laughed, a toneless, joyless sound. "Sam and I broke up months ago. I... I'm having issues, with the whole love thing. I think maybe now that Jazz has told her what my condition is she might understand more. But I doubt it. Hxis is a great boyfriend, Gothy and deep and all that. They're doing great."

"That does not answer my question," he said after a lengthy of silence in which he pondered over my words and wisely decided to change the subject.

"Oh, that's Hxis and Io. They're paranormal investigators. Well, Hxis is. Io's a empath or something," I explained, idly rubbing my fingers across the fabric of the bed sheets. It was a habit I'd developed lately, a sort of vague reassurance this wasn't as fake as it felt. "They're trying to help me figure out what's going on."

I thought Vlad might scold me for involving strangers in this or at least make a derisive remark. Instead he sat down next to the bed. "What did they find?"

"They're working out what the results mean. They'll get back to me later, hopefully." I yawned. "I'm so tired of this. All of this. I wish I'd never been in that stupid accident with the Portal."

The silver haired man nodded grimly. "It does do a number on you. The worse part was that, when it happened to me, there wasn't even the feeble treatment plan they have now. I was alone. But it isn't like that for you, Daniel. Your mother, your sister, myself, your friends - we are not going to leave your side until we find a - Madeline, how long have you been standing there?" he asked, eyes going wide. I looked up and saw my mother standing in the doorway, leaning against it to support herself. One hand was clutched to her mouth.

"Oh, God," she whispered, amethyst eyes wide. "The Ghost Portal... Vlad, Danny, I... I'm so sorry..."

Vlad was on his feet in a second, but she had already turned and bolted down the hallway. I could hear her sobs echoing in the hall and in my mind. I slapped my hand to my head, breathing in deeply. Damn it. What was she doing here at this hour? Why did Vlad have to mention this to her? Why did it all feel like a soap opera? I should be upset. I should be crying or yelling or something. Why couldn't I? Why was I trapped in my own head? I felt like screaming and nothing came out. I wanted to yell at myself. All I could do was stare ahead, feeling an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia whenever I was in my own head. I clutched at my own arms, hard enough that my nails drew blood in three long streaks down each, for all my main fingers. I used my thumbs to massage my own skin as I shut my eyes. _Feel something, damn it!_ I scolded myself. _Act like this means something to you! What is _wrong_ with me?_ Why couldn't I focus?

_Himei said, "I feel like I'll disappear when I close my eyes. I've become something I don't recognize. I don't want to fight for anything, anymore; I don't want to be alone anymore. I don't need a reason to kill myself. I need a reason not to._

_And there isn't one."_


	5. OrangeBlue Tinted

**Author's Notes:** Well, this one was hard to push out, and I'm not satisfied with it in length or quality, but after working on it extensively I can't seem to make it right, so here it is. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a French test to go fail. Also, if my OCs are bothering anyone, feel free to tell me. As I explained very loudly to my girlfriend last night, I cannot fix problems if I'm never told anything is wrong. And this holds true for my writing as well. I can only improve when you tell me what I need to work on. Thank you all for your patience and understanding with the lateness of this chapter. I hope it's good enough.

* * *

I could feel my mother's sorrow, see it like a flame in the night. Her aura burned darkly with guilt, shame and sadness.

Vlad was a beacon of uncertainty, and everyone else in the hospital helped obscure them, their own glows making it impossible to tell anyone apart. I was overwhelmed by the colors that blurred and glowed before me, but I wasn't scared by my sixth sense rising up again. In fact, as it grew more powerful, it became less and less overpowering. I could see more clearly than I ever had before. I drifted out of my body, walking away calmly into the bowels of the building. No one saw or heard me. I walked through them as if in a dream. I knew it was real, though. I felt something I never did in dreams: a purpose. I was on a mission and I had to get moving before that Vlad came back and saw me.

There were screams, gasps, cries, hanging in the air. The best way to explain them to a mortal is that they were like bubbles lingering invisibly in the halls, and when I touched one they would burst into sounds and smells, visions and sensations. They flared and died. No one burst lasted more than a few seconds. I made my way to the stairs, unhindered by the staff or Vlad. Up above my body slept peacefully, the first real peace it had been able to get in weeks. Shaking of the chains of the past I went deeper down still, acting on some kind of instinct I hadn't known I had. _Down_, something inside told me, _down to the bottom._

I feel more than hear the sound of footsteps past and present as people walk by me. I breathe in the scents of the hospital. I'm in my own little world now, still the real world but removed from the realm of mortals, a place that's been calling to me for what seems like a maddeningly long time. Past and present are blurring, irrelevant. Is this really happening to me? Is this a dream? Is it a memory? Everything fades into single-minded purpose. As I descend the stairs, out of some force of habit I don't really understand when I could just go through the floors, I begin to see faces, shapes. They linger in the rooms, in the halls, litter the building like stars in the night. They see me and react, alarmed, sometimes saddened, sometimes scared, moving back from me as I approach. They are all white, transparent, and many of them have blood stains on their bodies that are the only colored thing about them.

One of them begins to follow me. She chases after me, actually, grabs me by the arms. She tries to pull me back, but she's too small and she can't stop me. So she runs at me again and shoves me. We fall to the ground, both of us, and she's in tears. I can't tell how old she is. Four? Five? She has a ring of bruises around her neck from whatever killed her, the dark purple the only color on her. She's familiar. I've seen her before, somewhere, but before I can ask her what her name is she slaps me across the face.

I woke up back in my own body, gasping quietly for air.

It felt more foreign to me than ever.

* * *

My relationship with Sam had fallen apart.

And it wasn't even Hxis' fault. Sure, I could spend time hating him, his foreign name and his trilingual skills and his love of poetry, all those things he had that I didn't. I could blame it all on him. But Sam and I were already broken up by the time he rolled around, and that was my fault, not his. He transferred in and met a girl who liked his snarky personality. She met someone who was interested in the paranormal and intelligent. They were pretty good for each other, even if I didn't want to admit it at first. I was the one who didn't fit into the equation. I used to, I used to be part of Sam and Tucker's life, and it wasn't the addition of Hxis and Tien that drew them away from me. I was the one who pushed them away. I was the one who did this to myself.

I made Tucker meet Tien. I faked sick and she went from being the odd one out in Chemistry to being abruptly partnered with him. I remember the way his smile reached his eyes when he introduced her to Sam and I, going on and on about how smart she was. She blushed red and looked at the ground, embarrassed. Her hair was mostly short, save for one longer lock she had a tendency to cling to when nervous. That was how I knew she and Tucker were a good match; she didn't have to do that when he was around. Tien was in a couple of my classes. I knew she was smart but more importantly she was kind hearted; an idealist, going off of her English papers Lancer made her read in front of the class. She saw good in everything. Tien Nguyen was a perfect match for Tucker. All I had to do was get them to spend forty minutes together and everything fell into place perfectly.

Sam and I hadn't had such a smooth and easy path. She knew something was wrong. I was in denial. When I wasn't in denial to myself I was still lying to her. That I was fine, that nothing was wrong, and she knew something was. She wanted to help me. I didn't want to be helped. I didn't want to even admit I needed help because I had some stupid idea that doing so would make me weak. Maybe on some level I didn't want to drag her down with me. As my hair got grayer and my eyes went teal, my thoughts became increasingly messed up, and I wouldn't even realize it until after I snapped out of my latest stupor. It was only days after the fact that I'd realize what I'd been thinking when I kissed Sam, or when I held her hand, and the thoughts made me scared of what I could do to her.

_Let me fly you to the tunnel the trains out of Amity Park go through. We'll stand on the tracks and I'll make us ghosts as it goes by, it won't hurt, I've done it before. The rush is incredible. I want you by me as the world flies through us, us alone in our own plane of existance._

_I want to put a gun to my head and fade the bullet through me so it doesn't hurt, phase it out so I feel invincible, and see your face while you watch me. Because when I'm in danger I can tell you love me; there's no pretense, no walls, just us and our emotions that bind us together like tangled string._

_Since I never want to forget you, jump with me from this building. We'll be ghosts together, stay together forever. Your parents will never hurt you again. They'll never make you cry again. You'll be mine and I will be your shield._

Things like that seemed like natural thoughts, _were_ naturally occuring thoughts, but then I examined them. And I wasn't liking what I saw. I knew that at this rate it was only a matter of time before I did something messed up. So I tried to push Sam away. We didn't break up, not really. We never sat down and discussed the end of our relationship and agree to be friends. I just stopped asking her out on dates, made excuses to duck out of ones, and spent more time laying on my bed staring up at the ceiling than I could ever admit. I was protecting her. Or I thought I was. Was it the right thing to do? She seemed to love hanging out with Hxis, and Tucker barely noticed Sam or I anymore now that he had someone who understood his technobabble. I thought I'd done the right thing.

But people with Depersonalization Disorder weren't a danger to others. Themselves, sure. Other people, though, were perfectly safe with me. I'd pushed her away for nothing. I'd lost her to my own inability to admit I was wrong, I was weak, and I needed help. If I'd just been honest she'd still be my girlfriend. Then again, would she still want me, knowing what was wrong with me? I had no way of knowing that short of talking to her, but the hospital staff wasn't about to let my friends visit me just yet.

In a way I was grateful that I had an excuse to take some time to pull myself together. How was I supposed to explain this to Sam? I needed to think. I needed to try and find a way to say any of this that made sense. Everything was a blend of ghostly and mortal senses, sixth sense visions and images I had conjured up in my dreams. Words repeated over and over in my head as I tried to wait patiently for Vlad to return to the room. It was in this quiet that I made the terrifying realization I was going off the deep end. My condition was rapidly deteriorating. Ever since I jumped...

When I jumped I had been real for a flicker in time, and I was paying for it in full. My ability to feel was damaged, and so was my desire to stay in this world. My mind had tasted the afterlife, what it would be like to really be a ghost, so now it was even haarder to stay here trapped in this form. It was harder to be mortal now that I knew what the other side truly felt like. Every second in this form was too long now. This body didn't feel like my own. I was drowning, choking on air in a world that I couldn't call my own anymore. And I'd made my own Hell worse in attempting to escape it. Was there ever going to be an escape from this? The very thought of waiting days for the drugs to arrive and weeks for them to work was a nightmare. How could I wait that long when every second here made me want to scream? I couldn't survive another minute like this. A day was an eon, an endlessly long time, too much for me to fathom taking, and I dug my nails into my skin again as I tried to calm down. Everything was getting impossible to take again but if I didn't take it I would be giving up. I didn't fight off ghosts and survive all those fights to be beaten by my own head.

I was trying to surf through TV channels to distract myself when I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the transparent blue-white figure of a human being. It wasn't quite a ghost. There was no green to it. It didn't speak. Instead, it drew closer to me, even though my ghost sense didn't go off. It made no noise. I heard no sounds coming from it. The lights flickered vaguely as it approached, ambling forward slowly. I couldn't tear my eyes away from its' head. It was crumbled, broken inward, the face removed entirely. There wasn't even any way to tell where the eyes or nose should have gone. I shut my eyes tightly as it got closer, wondering (praying, at this point, honestly) if I'd been misdiagnosed. If I was schizophrenic this thing wasn't real and couldn't touch me. It couldn't hurt me. And indeed, it walked right through me, fading out to nothing before it got to the window.

But it had always been invisible from the knees down. And it had white hair.

I shuddered, pulling the blankets tighter around myself and waiting for this rollercoaster of a life to end.

* * *

Orange and blue.

Mr. Lancer had been explaining it to the class once. I had to rush out to fight the Box Ghost, but I'd been listening until this. Black and black morality was when everyone was evil. Gray and black was semi-good and evil. Gray and grey was when nobody was good or bad or if they were they were on the line. Gray and white was good and morally ambiguous. White and black was good or bad, the end. White and whie was when everybody was varying degrees of good. It gave me a headache. It was complicated and totally unnecessary. When would it ever come in handy? There were too many terms too similar, and we all got bad scores on that test. I took notes and still got it messed up. The only thing I understood was blue and orange morality: when someone's definitons and views are so scewed they aren't any of the above, when nothing makes sense or seems bad or good, just opposite. Blue and orange meant total confusion, a loss of a sense of what anything was. I understood that. I got that. I knew what it was. It was me, post breakdown.

The stray thoughts and images I was picking up were only bad at night. It wasn't a problem at home because they were images and thoughts left over by my family. My family's life was good and the memories were like my own. The thoughts made sense. Now, even if I was in a better facility, I was in a real and true mental hospital. And the thoughts weren't mine. They were psychic and emotion static left over from everyone who'd walked the halls of this building. I glimpsed eyes, muddy clay red brown, dark inky colored, robin's egg blue, tawny. I saw faces, old, young, heart shaped, angular, soft, round. They flickered through my mind like half remembered songs and vanished. You know the way your thoughts stop making sense if you're tired? It was like that. The words didn't make sense to me anymore, and they wouldn't stop.

_Tawny eyes, blonde hair. "En ymarra! Jata minut rauhaan!"_ Red brown eyes, heart face, gray gloves, hands on his head. "Aiuto, aiuto! Mi lasci in pace!" **Dark clothes, an incredibly thin frame. A Brooklyn accent, voice just above a whisper. "I can't get the sounds she made out of my head..."** _Someone threw themselves against the wall, again and again, wild dark hair falling to her thighs, body shaking. "Wake up, wake up, not real, this is real, this is life." _Orange matted hair, thoughts feral, untouchable, scratching, never been inside before don't want to be want to be free like before help help HELP. **"He's not imaginary, he's my friend! I won't take your stupid pills, they kill him! I don't want to hurt him. He only tells me to do good things anyway. He loves me. You don't understand!"**

This place was going to drive me mad at this rate. We were all orange and blue when we needed to be around people who weren't. But what else was there for me to do? I listened to my room mate's deep breathing as he slept. He was a sweet guy, the kind of nice guy girls would normally swarm over, and his arms and legs were so scarred it made me wince to look at them. There were prominent neck scars healing too, and it was disturbing to have him welcome me with a hug and then hear him cry at night later. If I could have I'd have gotten out of bed to comfort him, but my broken leg made it impossible to do anything other than listen. His black hair was long and hung in his face like an emo kid's, but I'd never met anyone so cheerful. Cillian was nearing fourteen. I didn't want to think about what made him break already. At least he wasn't dangerous. I'd seen the lock down ward on my way in. That place was something I never wanted to see again.

"Danny, you awake?" he muttered quietly. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," I replied. "Just can't sleep in a new place, I guess."

"It gets easier. After the first week you'll be fine. But I worry about everybody who's new. It's not easy on you." He paused thoughtfully. "Do you know you're flickering?"

"Huh?" I said intelligently.

"You're going see through. Is that why you're here? You have whatever Casil and Ayulan have?"

I remember a saying from Lancer's lecture, then. That it was possible to hit rock bottom and keep falling. There's a light at the end of a tunnel and it's a flamethrower. It can always get worse. Those things suddenly looked optimistic by comparison.

"Tell me everything you know, Cillian. Everything."


End file.
